


Pickle

by rohkeutta



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta
Summary: There’s no answer, but Bucky’s favorite sneakers and his Birkenstock sandals are both still lined up neatly next to the door, so he must be home. Steve wanders to the kitchen to find it sparkling, the blender jug drying in the rack next to the sink. When he opens the fridge, he finds a tall glass of smoothie, covered in cling wrap with ‘STEVE’ spelled on it in Bucky’s neat block letters. He peels the cling wrap off and takes a sip.Passion fruit. Nice.





	Pickle

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another reward ficlet I wrote for Not Without You Anthology backers last year, and I'm kicking it out to the world just to post something and clear out my docs a little. Big hug to Gerry for betaing!

When Steve comes home, it’s already getting late: the sun is low, the light tilted to the side, and the house is quiet.

“Bucky?” he calls as he drops his bag on the foyer floor, toeing off his shoes and stretching the kinks out of his back. Flying fucking  _ sucks _ .

There’s no answer, but Bucky’s favorite sneakers and his Birkenstock sandals are both still lined up neatly next to the door, so he must be home. Steve wanders to the kitchen to find it sparkling, the blender jug drying in the rack next to the sink. When he opens the fridge, he finds a tall glass of smoothie, covered in cling wrap with ‘STEVE’ spelled on it in Bucky’s neat block letters. He peels the cling wrap off and takes a sip.

Passion fruit. Nice.

Smoothie in hand, he heads to the backyard: the evening is warm, so it’s likely that Bucky’s reading on the patio, since he clearly isn’t inside the apartment.

Sure enough: Bucky’s perched on the patio stairs, in the only spot on their backyard where the sun hits this late. He’s thumbing through a worn paperback, a half-finished glass of smoothie next to him, and he looks content and relaxed.

Bucky turns when he hears Steve’s footsteps, and he’s already smiling, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He looks like summer personified. “Hey,” he says. “I was waiting for you.”

Steve grins back and is about to bow down to kiss Bucky, when something sitting at Bucky’s feet draws his attention. “Bucky,” he says instead, squinting. “Is that a dog?” 

“Yep,” Bucky says, puts down his book and reaches out to scratch the slightly pudgy, happily panting corgi between his ears. “Say hi to Sir Benjamin Pickles.”

Steve almost inhales his smoothie. “To what now?”

“Sir Benjamin Pickles,” Bucky repeats, face serious but eyes twinkling with mirth. “But you can call him Pickles.”

Steve looks at the corgi. His tongue is lolling out, and he’s wagging his tail so hard that the whole back half of his body is shaking. He looks like an idiot.

Steve loves him.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Steve says instead and sits down next to Bucky, presses a kiss on his mouth. “Thanks for the smoothie. Hello, Sir Pickles.”

“Sir  _ Benjamin _ Pickles,” Bucky corrects, stealing another kiss. 

“Good evening, Sir Benjamin Pickles,” Steve says in a solemn tone. The corgi wags his tail a little more.

It is a little odd that in the barely two days Steve’s been away, Bucky’s somehow acquired a pet. But getting a dog out of the blue isn’t the weirdest thing Steve’s seen Bucky do, and he’s learnt to not ask questions before Bucky offers the answers voluntarily. 

Bucky will probably lie on the edge of the mattress during the dark, sweltering hours of the incoming night; a tightly wound, sleepless figure trying to chase a cooler patch on the bed, and tell Steve why. Why a dog. Why a  _ corgi _ , specifically. Why the terrible name. 

Knowing Bucky, it will break Steve’s heart. Knowing him, Steve will reach out for him, his palm heavy like a promise on Bucky’s bare, sweaty back; and wish that Bucky would look at him, let him take hold and not let go.

So until then Steve’s gonna take it in stride: he lifts his arm so that Bucky can lean against him, and takes a sip of his smoothie. Bucky picks up his book again and presses closer; he’s sun-warmed against Steve’s flank, smelling like summer and sunblock. Pickles is panting noisily at their feet, all soft fur and cool nose pressed against Steve’s ankle.

The summer isn’t over just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr's [here](http://rohkeutta.tumblr.com/).


End file.
